Chapter 2: Playing Marksman

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us."

-Marianne Williamson

Di was home, watching TV from the sofa and feeling miserable. She was in a fluffy green dress, waiting for seven o'clock when she could escape her mother for a few hours at prom. CNN was gossiping—as it had been doing all week—about "Tony Stark's Guardian Angel." Watching it was making her sick, but Di had made too many mistakes already, the least of which had been not talking about the Avengers when her mom got back to the hotel. She had been worried for Di, certainly, but after Di assured her that she had been far from the commotion, Mom had proceeded to ask every detail about the incident. Di had acted disinterested, and consequently Mom suspected something was wrong, especially when she noticed the scrapes on Di's arms—which Di had forgotten to hide in the rush to conceal the cut on her forehead and the rips in her clothing.

Since then, Di verged on obsession, gossiping even more than CNN about the event, to allay her mother's concern. Di wasn't sure, now that they were home in Phoenix and far, far away from New York, if her mom had forgotten about it yet, so she kept herself glued to the television set.

Currently the screen was showing an interview of Tony Stark. "Tell us, Mr. Stark, do you have any idea of the identity of the mysterious woman who saved you?"

Stark smiled and the camera cut to a close-up. "No, but I hope she's still there to save my neck the next time I need her. Maybe she'll stick around and let me buy her a drink."

Di blushed and smashed her face into the sofa pillow. The interviewer chuckled and asked some question concerning the Ironman armor's malfunction, which Stark avoided considerably less smoothly. When Di finally came up for air she looked at the clock, and sighed with relief. She clicked the TV off, and bounded upstairs to tell her mother she was leaving. Mom reminded her sternly that she was to be home by nine-thirty, kissed her and let her go with a final reminder to find herself a nice boy to dance with.

Di didn't have a date (she hadn't had a date since tenth grade) but she mostly went to prom to see everybody get dressed up. It was amazing the changes you saw in people when they were in their best clothes. She caught the bus to downtown and walked (well, flew discreetly) a block to Heritage High School. The auditorium was lit up garishly, a multicolored beacon in the dark of downtown Phoenix. Di presented her ticket and slipped inside. She stopped at the refreshment table for a drink and then hunted down one of the few chairs and staked her claim on it. Di let herself sink into a pleasant haze of loud music, laughing friends and junk food. She caught the eye of another wallflower over by the DJ and was just considering asking him for the next song when she heard a voice behind her.

"Not much of a dancer, are you?"

Di turned around and almost dropped her glass of punch. "Oh crap," she breathed.

Hawkeye flashed a grin at her. "Let's take a walk."

Di looked around wildly—her friends were all dancing, even the wallflower was gone, she was alone in the corner of the auditorium. The music was blaring; everyone was having fun; too much fun to notice the superspy standing next to her. Di slowly put down her cup of punch, afraid the liquid might spill out and start spinning with the rest of the room.

Hawkeye noticed her desperate glances. "You're pretty popular; I've been waiting all night to get you alone. Come on."

He slipped an arm under hers and raised her out of the chair. Di felt her knees straighten of their own accord and held onto his arm tightly in case they stopped working. The thought that someone might recognize him—might recognize him with her—had suspended all capacity for thought outside panic.

They crossed the auditorium, Di wincing as they weaved their way between students and chaperones. Every time someone glanced her way, Di was sure she would hear a shout as they announced the presence of an Avenger in the room. Hawkeye was dressed all in black, not quite as formal as the real partygoers, but no one gave him a second look until they reached the door. As they passed the ticket table, one of the takers addressed Di.

"Going so soon, Diane?" asked her English teacher. Di nodded weakly. He glanced at Hawkeye.

"I'm her ride," he lied smoothly, and they were out of the auditorium, and into the fresh night air and the welcome, concealing darkness. As Hawkeye steered her down the sidewalk, Di felt her heart beat slow down. Now that the immediate threat of discovery was abated, Di had the leisure to worry about where she was going, and more importantly, the fact that she was going there with an Avenger. Di was torn between trying to figure out what Hawkeye was doing here and getting out of there herself. Her fight or flight instincts leaned heavily towards the latter, and almost without thinking Di let her toes rise up off the ground.

Hawkeye yanked Di back to the ground, startling her. "If you fly away, I'll decide you're dangerous. I just want to talk. Answer all my questions and you'll never see me again."

The choice made for her, Di allowed Hawkeye to lead her to a black car on the curb. After all, she reasoned, if he knew where her high school was, then trying hide from him was a lost cause. She got in the passenger side of the two-door and glanced about nervously. How much trouble was she in?

The car growled softly and pulled out on the boulevard. Di glanced at Hawkeye. "How did you find me?"

"Shot you with a tracker arrow. You wouldn't have noticed—it's probably still stuck on one of your shoes or something. Once I knew where you lived, I looked you up and flew down here."

"Did anyone recognize you? Who knows you're here? Are you sure—"

"You're a little paranoid, aren't you? I'm a professional, Diane. Nobody knows I'm here."

"Not even the other Avengers?"

"What?" Hawkeye glanced at her, and then shook his head. "Oh yeah, that's what they're calling us, isn't it? No, although Stark will probably kill me when he finds out."

Di had been doing her best not to freak out. She was barely a yard away from a real Avenger, talking to him, and her voice wasn't even shaking. Hawkeye was friendly enough; it was even getting easier to think. "Why? Did he fix his suit? What happened to it anyway?"

"No idea. He's kind of secretive about his toys. Anyway, he's dying to know who you are."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"That depends on your answers to my questions."

"Oh." Di sighed, and finally said farewell to her secret. At least she was sharing it with someone trustworthy. "I suppose you already know how old I am and my bank account number and all that, right?"

Hawkeye nodded.

"I've been able to fly for a couple years now. I don't know how, it—it just happened. I didn't fall into a tub of toxic waste or anything. I can go really fast." Di grinned. "Really fast. Faster than my mom's corvette."

"Why'd you run away? After you and Stark…" He waved his hand and the abstract gesture filled in the rest of the sentence.

"I didn't want to be on TV. I would've stayed and explained, really, but I wanted—"

"—to keep everything a secret. Nobody else knows?"

"Of course. I don't know what I'd do if my parents found out. They're kind of…" Di trailed off. "I just don't want everyone in the world to know who I am. I don't want anything to change. Does that make sense?"

"Believe me, it makes sense."

"Well, what now? Are you going to arrest me or something?"

Hawkeye laughed. "For what? Flying without a pilot's license?"

Di had to grin. Hawkeye continued. "As long as you keep your head down and don't get into trouble, I'm willing to leave you alone. You do that, and I'll take care of things on my end, okay?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I'm not about to go out and save the world or anything." Di glanced out the window. "What street are we on? Here, I can fly home. Just drop me off anywhere. You know what? It's too bad this is a secret. If my friends knew I'd talked to an Avenger, I'd be the coolest kid in the whole school."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and pulled into a deserted parking lot. It was the huge one behind the old mall; Di knew her way home from there. Di got out of the car waved goodbye, rocking back and forth eagerly on her heels. Hawkeye stepped out of the car, and tossed something over the top to her. She caught it easily.

It was a small, sleek black phone. The contact list was empty except for one name: Clint Barton. Hawkeye's name, Di realized. She hoped it was too dark for him to see her blush.

"With any luck you'll never see me again," he said, "but just in case you get into trouble, keep that phone."

Di dismissed the last half of the sentence. What kind of trouble happened in Phoenix? No kind, that's what. "I'll see you. You know, on TV, saving the world and everything."

Hawkeye frowned. "If I have any luck, you won't see me there, either."

"I guess being a national hero isn't the most relaxing career, is it?" Di asked.

"It's not so much that as the career it interrupted. Bye, Diane, and let's hope we both have good luck."

Di didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment, a gunshot rang out across the parking lot.

Hawkeye had been relieved to find out that Stark's guardian angel was exactly what he thought: a harmless kid, in the wrong place at the right time. He even liked her a little—he certainly found himself telling her more than he should have—and didn't regret his decision to protect her anonymity. She could be lying, of course, but Hawkeye had been watching her for three days, and she seemed to be exactly what she said she was. So when a bullet whistled inches past him, Agent Barton was understandably reluctant to think he'd been fooled. There was no other available explanation, however, for the three cars that had sped into the parking lot to surround his own, or for the hail of shots emitting from them.

Hawkeye lunged inside the car—noting the sound of air hissing out of the tires—retrieved his bow and took out the driver and two hit men in the van behind him. His next shot was ready an instant later to hit the Diane as she ran.

In the seconds it took him to remember that the teen's fastest escape route didn't lay behind the vans but straight up, a sniper's dart had lodged in the base of his neck and several more gunshots cracked into the air. Clint ripped it out and launched a quick shot at the sniper—the last one in the first van. New plan, he thought as he turned his attention to the two cars beyond his own. Kill the ambush, then get the girl. Whatever was in the dart would have to wait.

In a few seconds he'd located the hit men behind the other two vans. Eight, maybe nine—it'd be easy. Hawkeye took aim, and felt the familiar, satisfying shudder of his bow as the arrow whizzed towards its unlucky target…

…and missed.

Hawkeye frowned and aimed at the same man. He took an extra second to make sure of his aim, and found the second stretching into two, then three… He couldn't focus on his target; the man was flickering, fogging in and out of sight. With a sinking heart, Hawkeye realized his vision was going, blurring worse every second. He let the arrow go, not even able to see if it missed, and dropped down behind his car, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He couldn't shoot if he couldn't aim.

The car didn't provide the best cover; between the two vans his angle of safety was severely restricted. Hawkeye considered his options, blocking out the half of his mind that was calling him an idiot for not bringing back up. The car's tires were all flat, but if he could run to the empty van…

Never-mind. He couldn't even see it at this point, and he couldn't drive it blind. He was completely cornered. Panic was creeping up on him, tapping on his shoulder, but Clint forced it down. He had enough arrows; there were only eight of them; he had to get lucky a couple times. Right, and he had abundant supply of luck at the moment…

Hawkeye sprang back to his feet and sent a blind shot over the top of his car. More shots, as fast as he could, hoping something would stick, trying to resist the dizzying swirl of colors that the world had dissolved into. A bullet ripped into his shoulder and Hawkeye shot hopelessly in the direction of the retort. His head was pounding, his thoughts going in circles as he searched for a way out of this mess.

Something huge hit him from the side, knocking him over. Hawkeye tumbled to the ground, losing his balance and all sense of direction. It was amazing how much he relied on his sight, he realized. Hawkeye froze when he landed, unsure if he was still under cover. After a few seconds the shots stopped, but he still didn't dare move. What had hit him…?

"Hawkeye?"

Diane! This set Hawkeye's whole theory on its ear. "What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously.

"I was going to come down and—the gunshots—I crashed—oh, whatever. Plan A failed."

She came down to help him, Hawkeye realized. Shoot, he'd underestimated this kid. She was going to get herself killed.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"No. They hit me with… something… and I can't see. I don't suppose you had a plan B?"

"I can fly us out of here, but they're shooting too fast. If you were shooting back…"

"I can't. If I can't see; I can't aim. You've got a better chance of hitting something than I do."

"But you're the best marksman in the world! You don't need to see. I'll tell you where to aim."

Hawkeye shook his head. There was so much more than direction he was missing. Distance, angle, movement… He couldn't even list them all; they came instinctively. "It won't work. Just get out of here."

"Listen," Diane said fiercely. "You have all sorts of crazy arrows. I'm sure some explode. You don't have to hit the people, just the vans. All we need is a distraction. Come on, you're an Avenger."

Hawkeye resisted the urge to inform her that six months ago the Avengers had not been a team of super heroes. They had just been several people trying to stop the end of the world. That didn't make any of them perfect. He knew it wouldn't do any good anyway. Diane wasn't going to leave without him.

"Alright then. Where are you? Help me up." He reached out a hand and she grabbed it. Figuring out the right direction, he rolled over into a crouch, wincing as the wound in his shoulder screamed for attention. With one hand braced against and the car, his sense of direction was less upset. Di handed him his bow.

"Okay," she said. She must have peeked over top of the car, because a second later three shots rang out. "The first one is over—wait. Here." She took his hand again and pointed it. Hawkeye memorized the direction. "Right here, and the other one is over there."

Hawkeye took a deep breath. "Stay down. I hope you have better luck than I do."

"Well, I'm seeing you again, aren't I?"

Hawkeye closed his eyes to keep what was left of his sight from distracting him. One of the vans had been farther away, he remembered, but which one? If he overshot or fell short they were dead. Had it been fifty or thirty feet? He shook away the questions. No point in thinking about it.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Clint sprang to his feet and fired two shots in five seconds. There were two matching booms, and then he felt himself yanked into the air. The sound of gunshots followed, but after a few agonizing seconds they were out of range, high in the air. Hawkeye gripped his bow tightly and trying not to think about falling. He didn't like flying with Stark and it certainly wasn't any better with Diane, who was obviously having trouble with his weight. Give him a plane any day of the week.

Diane held on tight, however, tight enough that the pressure on his shoulder was making him dizzy—although it might have been the height—and the flight was short. Once his feet were on solid ground, he felt around for a wall and then sat down against it. He heard Diane do the same, panting.

"I've got to start flying with weights," she said. "I hope this doesn't get to be a habit."

"Me, too. Where are we?"

"On top of the Bank of America building. Are you alright?" Her voice was tinged with concern.

"I've been shot before, Diane. This is nothing. I'll be fine."

"So who's trying to kill you?"

Clint shrugged. Save that question for after I've had a drink and some sleep and lots of painkillers, he thought.

"You don't know?"

"There's a list." Except that this was definitely not someone on that list. Clint rubbed his eyes, a habit he seemed to have acquired in the last few minutes. His thoughts turned to getting home and he groaned. "Fury's gonna kill me," he murmured.

"Who?"

Clint hesitated. It was technically classified infor—oh whatever, Fury couldn't seem to decide whether Clint was an agent or an Avenger, anyway. "Director of SHEILD, my boss, kind of. I shouldn't have gone off without back up. It's what I get for hanging around with superheroes. I forgot I wasn't invincible." He fished his phone out of a pocket, remembered he couldn't see, and handed it to Diane. "Get the number for Natasha for me."

Moments later Natasha's voice sounded from the phone. "Clint? Where have you been for the last three days? I've called you twice."

"I'm in Phoenix, and I could use a pick up."

"What—"

"I'll explain later. Could you just send someone out here?"

Natasha paused and Clint prayed she wouldn't press the issue.

"I'll ask Fury to send a Quinjet. Where are you?"

"I was hoping to avoid involving Fury…"

"You are in trouble, aren't you? I'll come myself."

"Fine. I'll turn on a signal for you. By the way, make sure you bring a medic."

He hung up before she could reply, and winced in anticipation of the trouble he'd be in. This was supposed to be a simple mission…

"Hawkeye?" Diane asked. "Is Natasha the Black Widow?"

Even as Hawkeye realized how quick Diane was to have guessed that from his conversation, he was laughing at her childish excitement. "Avenger" was really a magic word for her.

"What are you laughing at?" the teenager asked, in a tone that suggested she suspected it was her.

"Yes, she is, but that's not her name. She's Natasha, and I'm Clint."

Diane took the hint. "Then you can call me Di. My grandmother's name isDiane."

And that made both of them laugh.